Be
by Lueminut
Summary: Request. Silver struggles to understand what defines a winner, and a loser.


Heavy **T** for language. Best enjoyed in half or three fourths-width. Critique is always welcomed.

* * *

You're a winner, so long as you've tried.

_Fuck that_, Silver muses, as he wobbles into sight of the bathroom sink. He holds the edges with trembling palms, allowing his fingernails to scratch at the enameled surface with shaky fervor, as his weary eyes catch sight of his leaden, peppered face with a significant swirl of repulsion and disappointment. Never has he felt such aversion to his own person as he just did, mouth almost slack in surrender, teeth bared in unspeakable fury.

_You little bitch_, he's thinking, letting the pads of his fingers explore the dark, wrinkled impression beneath his eyes roughly, almost as if to break the skin, to frazzle the sensitive nerves beneath, and to coax the blood cells into full burst. _You've lost again, you shit. Just like always, like fucking always_. Silver continues the verbal self-abuse relentlessly, turning the faucet with a jerk, until the water sizzles and steams as it fills the basin. Without preparation, he's pushed his head in as far as he can, submerging his face and hair into the fervent pool with a fluid motion. _You're a piece of shit, just like your father said. You're worthless._

_You're a loser._

Silver doesn't remember how long he's been beneath, but the moment he arises, he coughs heavily, pulling his arms into his chest, convulsing with the fluid that has gathered in his lungs. The spasms ease within moments and he solemnly watches his own face; the drool seeping down his chin, the glassy gaze, the lacquered auburn hair. _How pitiful_, the teenager thinks, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. It isn't new for Silver; he has been doing this every night, in the hopes that one day, he'll be courageous enough to remain submerged until his lungs burst, and collapse into his ribs.

Alas, he thinks it unfortunate, he's too cowardly to go through with it all.

The heaves follow his cowardice, and it's only bile, mixed with the water he swallowed in his slipshod suicide technique. It sloshes on his bare feet, seeps between his toes, and he's sobbing in that sort of wheezing that makes his chest push in- he's pressing his hand into his shirt and his sour mouth is wide open as he cries.

_You're proving that you're a little bitch again_, he internally croons through his wailing. Knees give way, and he's a crumpled, shivering mess on the tiles, wet and dirty and cold. Pressing his face, the sobbing muffles. You're a fucking disappointment.

As far as Silver can remember, he's been a disappointment. He's a cowardly menace- the worst kind, the kind who barks with their tail shoved between the legs. He's a punk kid with no talent nor passion, who actively seeks defeat with a masochistic wiring that betrays his wishes. Silver doesn't want defeat, he wants _victory_. He wants to turn other trainers into the quivering pile he usually is, plague their sleep with the quaking nightmare of failure, and drive their psyche into the ground.

He wants to be a _winner_.

The sobs, they ease into childish sniffling, to which Silver almost accepts without jeer. There are a number of winners wired for success in society- they are loved and admired by all, including themselves.

Silver isn't quite that winner.

* * *

Gold is both _unbearably_ infuriating, and _undeniably_ fascinating.

Note, most of the time, Silver thinks him both abhorrent and artless- he usually wants nothing to do with the strange young man and dreads the fact that, it seems, he considers Silver to be one of his favourite individuals. However, there is one exception to his senseless hatred, and Silver is pushed into near-worship of him with hands bound and lips parted in adoration.

Gold is an impeccable battler. He's yet to decode what appears to change in the teenager, but a battling Gold is a different Gold altogether, with hard, unyielding eyes, and that lazy smirk on his usually placid face. The metamorphosis of confidence is outright disturbing in Silver, and how quickly it overcomes the usual naïveté; worse yet, the sort of response that it evokes from Silver. It is embarrassing, and he's rather be pierced by a flurry of furious Beedrills than to admit it.

It... _excites_ him in ways he didn't think possible.

"Crobat, use Confuse Ray...!" Silver exclaims, and his small, flying companion moves quickly, swirling along the air with an intimidating grace, before swooping down toward his enemy, a bracing, injured Sunflora. They are both at their final Pokémon, and Silver is in a clear advantage in every way. However, he knows to keep his hopes at bay; Gold has an unpleasant habit of turning an unsavoury situation around when least expected.

Crobat's piercing gaze glows eerily, and he opens his large, flat teeth, pushing a dark bubble into his enemy. "Dodge it, Sunbo! Use Swords Dance!" Gold calls, and the almost inanimate Sunflora springs into action, moving herself away from the hazard in an aerobic ability that should never exist within a plant. Silver hisses, gazing worriedly at how the Sunflora's arms glowed and grew twice their size.

"Ease back, Crobat! Use Toxic from a distance!" And Crobat obeys, flapping his wings rapidly to keep distance from his target. The creature gurgles, opening his mouth once more. This time, he begins a series of regurgitating, where a highly poisonous, viscous fluid escapes. The Sunflora responds with swiping at the incoming vomit, and it slices through as if it was warm butter. Both trainers know it is anything but; where the fluid falls, the coated grass withers in seconds, and creates a dry crater in the moist earth.

"Tch..." Silver is frustrated, and knows that his fury is clouding his judgement. It is not the anger, but his outright _terror_ of failure is what quivers his body, and he feels the familiar lack of control that precedes defeat.

_No... not this time...!_

"Use Bite, Crobat!" He screams, and even his own Pokémon can recognise the change within his trainer. Even to Silver himself, it feels foreign, unusual, _stupid_ to go on the full offense. Nevertheless, bound by the threads of loyalty, Crobat obeys. He opens his mouth fully, exposing the point of his hidden molars, and sweeps down toward the battle-hardened Sunflora in supersonic speed. Gold is unable to suppress the smile in his eyes- it is then that Silver catches himself, realises he's sent Crobat on a suicide mission, and holds out a hand in protest. "No, _wait_-!"

That slow, distressing, exhilirating smirk is on Gold's face, and Silver doesn't know if his own trembling is from his mistake, or his excitement. "Sunbo, Giga Impact!"

In a flash of motion, the Sunflora grasps at Crobat between the wings, catching him in her blade-like leaves and pressing the Pokémon into the grass. When Crobat comes to from the impact, Sunbo is fully charged, glowing, frightening, _ready_. The flying Pokémon pushes off the ground in an attempt of escape, but his lower hind wing is stuck in the Sunflora's grip. She pushes forward into the air, and smashes all of her force into Crobat's gaping mouth.

Silver has nothing else, but to await his Pokémon's hard landing. Crobat falls haphazardly, with a crooked wing, and chipped teeth. Fangs bared, Silver approaches the huddled figure, and scoops the large Pokémon into his arms.

_You've lost again. You're a worthless piece of shit._

Gold's demeanor too has changed; His face lightens into genuine concern, and he stumbles over to the duo after coveting his own exhausted Pokémon. "Is he okay, Silv...?" He asks timidly, reaching out to stroke at the wheezing Crobat's wing. Silver flinches away, holding the incessant prickling at his eyes, and bites his thumbnail in an attempt to appear his usual calm persona.

"Hn... he'll be fine." Silver finally answers, thankfully in his usual, frigid monotone. Gold steps back, unconvinced, and allows the other a moment to return his defeated Pokémon to the safety of his Pokéball.

_To him, of all people? Do you enjoy losing, you bastard? You're such a loser._

_A motherfucking loser._

Gold reaches out his hand, and smiles weakly. "Good fight, Silv." He's saying, and it causes Silver's blood to boil within his veins. Doesn't the kid know when he isn't wanted? In a mixture of anger and disgust, he holds out an unwilling palm to meet the other, and the two young men shake politely, if curtly. Silver ignores the brief warmth, and shoves his hands into his pockets.

"Yeah... good fight."

* * *

_Good fight, my ass._

Silver pulls back sharply, his quivering hand dripping, punctured by glass, and pincer gripped by startled nerves. He almost thinks he's gone too far, but as he gazes into his fragmented reflection, he feels the urge to repeat it. How dare he allow that... _pest_ defeat him, and so embarrassingly? If anything, Silver's displeasure and admiration are heightened, and he's unaware of whether the burning in his throat is of aversion, or jealousy.

He removes the glass, piece by piece, and dresses his wounds quietly and meticulously. When he finishes, his mind flashes back to Gold's apologetic smile, and he allows himself a sob.

He doesn't need pity from a winner. That immature... child can never hope to understand how unbelievably _humiliating_ it is to lose the little pride one has left, to disappoint the Pokémon that work so hard for the victory because of one's own shortcomings. There is no worse feeling than of defeat, and Gold can never hope to understand it, because the kid's a winner. Winners are incapable of empathy for losers, because they do _not_ lose.

Idly, Silver wonders if Gold has ever lost a match, although it sounds like blasphemy to him. The goof is passionate. He is cool and collected under pressure, and he recognizes the strength of his Pokémon inside and out- after all, he's been raised with them all his life. A person like that can't possibly lose a match, can they?

_Of course not_, he decides, leaving the bathroom and climbing into his borrowed bed. Gold is a winner. He is a disgusting little child, but he is a _winner_.

Which is a pity, and Silver sighs at the thought. Maybe, just maybe, he would've liked the kid, if he were to lose some matches. He would be more human.

He would be a loser, _just like him_.

The next morning, he leaves behind a check on the nightstand, hoping it'll pay for the repairs. Regardless, he doubts he'll be able to board in this particular Pokémon Center again.

* * *

Silver has lost again, and this time he can't handle it.

"You _bastard_...!" Silver screams, reaching out and grasping at Gold by the shirt. Silver is tall, and the startled kid is trying to keep balance on the tip of his toes. "You win every single goddamned time...! Why can't you lose _one_ time?! One. Single. Fucking. Time...!"

Gold is startled, pulling at Silver's wrists at an attempt to escape. He's stronger by far, but Silver's anger is giving him an inexplicable strength that renders any attempt fruitless. "Calm down, Silv...! What's gotten _into_ you, man?! It's just a match..."

Just a match? No. Not to Silver.

If anything, this infuriates the redhead further, and he's pulling Gold off the balance of his feet, shaking him violently. "No, it's not!" He shouts at the wincing teenager's face. "To a winner like you, maybe, but not to a loser like me!"

"... Winner? _Loser_?..." Gold muses aloud, despite his panic at having been lifted from the ground. "Silv, that isn't at all what this is about, this is just-"

"No, _Gold_," Silver hisses the other's name in repugnance, as if he is a subclass of human. "This is precisely what this is about. This is about you feeding your stupid little winner's ego with yet another win, and reminding a loser like me just where his place should be. You've been doing this for years... _years_! You fuckin'..." and Silver, he can't vocalise just how frenetic he is, so he allows his body the freedom to finish.

The punch comes at no warning to Gold, and he's pushed back to collapse onto the grass by force. He takes in a sharp breath, and doesn't need to raise his hand to recognise that his lower lip has been split. Gold isn't particularly angry with Silver; however, he feels obliged to return the favour.

It doesn't take long for the teenagers to become one furrowed hurricane of fists and knees. Gold is pushing all of his strength into his punches, and beneath his clothing Silver can feel the blackened wells form into his skin. He's unwilling to lose, even in this, and so he rolls onto the other's stomach, reaching out his hands to grasp at the sides of Gold's fringe, and here he _pushes_. He pulls and pushes in a vehement rhythm, until he's smashing the teen's head into the ground repeatedly.

"You _bitch_...!" Silver wants to accuse Gold for everything, absolutely _everything_. He wants to accuse him for his mother's death, and his father's constant disappointment. He wants to accuse him for breaking into Professor Elm's laboratory and stealing his first Pokémon. For treating his partners like tools, and for losing every single match they've ever had. For never truly amounting to anything, and for securing his place in mediocrity.

_For being a loser_.

Gold finally pushes back, and drives his knee sharply into Silver's gut, which is responded by a momentary convulsion, and Gold finds the remaining strength to push the frenzied boy away from him and back onto the grass. Gold, he just wants Silver to calm down. He's confused, he doesn't understand why Silver hates him- he likes to think himself kind, and doesn't believe he's done any harm.

"What the hell did I ever_ do_ to you?!" It is now Gold's turn to scream, and Silver gazes quietly through his eyelashes, anger dissipated from his person. Silver doesn't know quite how to answer this question; he likes to blame Gold for so much, that occasionally even he forgets the purpose. Finally, mind (somewhat)composed, he answers.

"...You always win."

This rings between them both for a good pause, because Silver is embarrassed by how childish it sounds, and Gold is nothing less than shocked by it. Finally, he licks at his split lip awkwardly, and coughs.

"I lose too."

Silver can't quite believe what he hears. Surely it's a trick, an insensitive lie, or a trick of his own ears (blood sloshes inside and between). But Gold is sitting sprawled and haggard, his face is purple and serious. The young man reaches up and hisses at the scratches on his cheek, and Silver begins to feel guilt for what he's done. Perhaps he hasn't intended for the fight to wane this way.

He finds his voice, and shudders at how meek it sounds. "You... _you_ lose too?"

Gold almost smiles, but his face aches something terrible. "Of course, you idiot. I lose all the time."

The fury Silver has carefully constructed around Gold collapses, and the image shatters. Gold always winning, being a winner, it was only a fantasy of his. Gold loses, and maybe he too feels frustrated with his shortcomings. His knowledge, it isn't just talent, but efforts that hasn't failed. His handshake isn't mockery, it is respect. His apologetic smile, it isn't pity, but understanding. It is...

Empathy.

Gold stands on his feet with struggle, but he's frowning. Silver simply watches. "Sometimes, Silv, it isn't worth it just to win or lose. Sometimes you just need to _be_." Gold mutters, declaring this his goodbye, as he pushes his body toward the nearest town. He retreats slowly, painfully, and Silver continues to watch until Gold is only a tiny speck bathed in the drenching light.

He doesn't have the strength to stand.

* * *

It is months before Silver sees him again, and he knows now that the other is more reserved toward him. Silver isn't particularly offended- fascination and curiosity is all what plagues his mind, and he reaches out to grasp at the front of Gold's shirt with a shyness that is unlike him. Gold acknowledges the hand quietly, giving a silent nod for him to continue.

"Gold... who have you lost against?"

Their conversation is calm, almost pleasant, as Gold recounts in vivid detail every single significant loss. It is a major blow to his ego, but he understands that it's for his companion's closure. Silver's listening raptly, his eyes shining and attentive, and Gold is almost smiling; he's never seen Silver _this_ interested in him before. Silver feels his chest compress, then swell in something foreign, and his lip is twitching upward before he can help it.

Gold isn't just a winner, he's a loser too. They are now equal, and Silver respects him all the more.

It will be months until Silver understands why his chest is full, and why he can no longer think of why he hated the other so much. It will be months until he understands where his admiration is taking him, and why Gold's battling demeanor thrilled him so. And it will be months until he acts upon it all. For now, Silver has managed a timid smile, the first in years. It feels wholly _alien_ on his mouth, uncomfortable but not unpleasant.

And Gold, Gold has always loved him. His smile is enough for him. "But, y'know..." He begins, a bit embarrassed for having exposed all of his fallacies. "Like I said, sometimes it isn't worth it just to win or lose. Sometimes you just need to-"

"**Be**."

Both are surprised by Silver's response, but Gold is smiling wide, taking a hold of his friend's quivering hand. "Yeah, _exactly_. You don't need to win. You're not a loser. You just need to _be_." Silver is afraid he's unable to comprehend- but in months he will understand. Slowly, he closes his hand into Gold's palm.

Perhaps he could just try to be. _Just for a little while._


End file.
